“Oh, of course not. I never am reasonable, according to your ideas. But one thing you may be convinced of, and that is, that I never will toil and degrade myself by cutting your hair again, John, after this outrageous conduct.”
John had been visited so often with this tremendous menace, that he received it with no satisfaction. Well he knew that on that day four weeks he must don the blue apron again, unless something happened worse even than Aunt Doxyʼs tonsorial flourishes.
“Now, you are not done yet, John. You are in a great hurry, are you not, to get the apron off and scatter the hair all about? Whatʼs the good of my taking the trouble to spread Jemimaʼs shawl down? Can you imagine you are done, when I havenʼt rubbed you up with the rosemary even?”
“ʼCoronari marino rore!’ No wonder good Flaccus puts it after ‘multâ cæde bidentium.’ Oh, Doxy, you are inexorable. O averse Penates! By the way, that stanza is to my mind the most obscure (with one exception) in all the Odes. Either Horace had too much of the ‘lene tormentumʼ applied just then ‘ingenio non sæpe duro,’ or else——”
“Please, miss”—all the girls called her miss—“Dr. Hutton, miss!”
Bang went Miss Doxy, quicker than thought, left an exclamation, semi–profane, far behind on the light air, slammed the door on the poor girlʼs chilblains, bolted and locked it, and pulled out the key, and put the scutcheon over the keyhole.
“Well, why, διὰ τί; πόθεν; unde terrarum? Women are not allowed to say ‘mehercle,’ neither men ‘mecastor;’ ‘ædepol’ is common to both, but only ‘inscitiâ antiquitatis;’ for the most ancient men abstained from that even, and I dare say were none the worse for it——”
“I have no patience with you, John,” cried Miss Doxy, snatching up brush, comb, scissors, extract of the sea–dew, the blue apron, Jemimaʼs shawl of grey hair, and we know not how many other things, and huddling all into a cupboard, and longing to lock herself in with them.
“Great truths come out,” answered John, quite placidly, “at periods of mental commotion. But why, oh Doxy, and whence this inopine hurry–scurry? There is no classic expression—except perhaps in Aristophanes—of prosody quick enough; and, doubtless, for very good reason, because the people were too wise to hurry so. ‘Rumpe moras,’ for instance, is rather suggestive of——”
“Oh, John! oh, John! even at such a moment, John! I believe youʼll die in Latin or Greek—and I donʼt know which Amen is, only I donʼt believe itʼs English—there, I am as bad as you are to discuss such a question now. And I am quite sure Jenny canʼt tell a good story soundly. And he has got such ferret eyes! Thank Heaven, the key was inside, John.”